


and he called her love amongst the snowflakes

by shireness



Series: and he called her love amongst the snowflakes [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern Royalty, Princess!Emma, Snowed In, bodyguard!killian, cs secret santa 2k19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21975454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireness/pseuds/shireness
Summary: Being a princess is no guarantee of a perfect Christmas. Spending the next two days snowed in with her brother's hot bodyguard just might be, though.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Series: and he called her love amongst the snowflakes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053602
Comments: 19
Kudos: 194
Collections: CSSECRETSANTA2k19





	and he called her love amongst the snowflakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owlways_and_forever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlways_and_forever/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, @owlways-and-forever! It was a true delight to be your Secret Santa. I hope you're having a wonderful time with your family - in the meantime, here's your gift!
> 
> (Thanks, as always, to @snidgetsafan for her last minute beta-ing, and to @let-it-raines for helping me with the title.)
> 
> Enjoy!

“What do you _mean_ , you and Dad won’t be home for Christmas?”

“Now Emma,” her mother sighs. “I never said that. I just said we won’t be home on Christmas Eve.”

“Oh, like that’s better,” she grumbles under her breath in a manner very much unfitting of the Crown Princess of Misthaven.

“ _Emma_.”

“Ok, fine,” she concedes with as much attitude as she thinks she can get away with. “What do you mean, you and Dad won’t be home for Christmas _Eve_ , a totally separate thing that’s not at all like Christmas?”

Her mother - Queen Mary II of Misthaven, if you want to get official, though Emma doesn’t quite want to when she’d rather act childish about Christmas - doesn’t even bother to respond to that particular bit of sarcasm. “I know you’re upset, sweetheart, but there’s nothing to be done about it. The snow’s just coming down too hard, and it’s supposed to keep up tomorrow too. As much as we both want to be home with you and your brother, neither of us can control the weather.”

 _What’s the damn point of being Queen, then_ , Emma thinks, mostly jokingly. Mostly. She still has a small self-preservational instinct, however, so she does not voice this out loud.

“We knew this was a possibility when we went,” her mother continues. “We knew the weather might turn. We hoped it wouldn’t, but we had to go anyways. We couldn’t miss this hospital opening, Emma, not when they named it after your grandmother. At the end of the day, we are here to serve our citizens.”

Emma mouths the last words along with her mom, having heard them many times. It’s not quite a catchphrase in their family - that distinction goes to her father’s _very_ sappy “I will always find you”, the one thing that can reliably make both his children gag - but it does get repeated an awful lot. Call it their motto, or something. The lines just get more blurred when your family life and your professional life is so entwined.

“I’ll miss you,” Emma finally says after letting the line sit silent for a moment. That’s what this all comes down to, after all - as much as Emma understands why her parents had to fly across the country, and as much as she knows that they can’t control the weather, it’s Christmas time, and she wants to spend it with her parents.

“We’ll miss you too, sweetheart, and your brother too. Dad and I will be home as soon as we can, okay?” 

“Okay, Mom.” What else is there to say?

“They’re waiting for us, but I’ll talk to you later. Give Leo a kiss for me. I love you, Emma.”

“Love you too. Say hi to Dad for me.”

As comparatively well as Emma holds it together on the phone, that evaporates as soon as the call disconnects and she lets out a screech of frustration. It’s immature. She doesn’t care. She’s allowed to want her family on Christmas… Eve. Eve. 

(It’s technically still the night of the 23rd, but it’s the principle of the thing.)

Barely seconds later, a dark head pops into the room. Killian Jones - her brother’s security officer. Emma wouldn’t say she has a crush on him, but… she kind of has a crush on him. He’s just so goddamn handsome and charming, and she’s only human, even if she is the princess. They don’t cross paths very often - just on summers and school holidays, when Leo was home from boarding school and now from uni - but when they do, Emma can barely tear her eyes away. Damn, can that man wear a suit.

(Mostly, Emma just blushes a lot whenever he’s around, embarrassed by her own lustful thoughts. It’s a miracle no-one has called her on it yet.)

“Everything alright in here?” he asks, craning his neck towards all the corners, as if some kind of assassin might have made it through multiple layers of security at the palace just to crouch in the corner of a private sitting room. Just doing his job, she guesses. “I thought I heard some kind of shriek from the hallway.”

Emma colors a bit at being caught. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just —” She abruptly cuts off. “Is that an entire tub of cheese puffs?”

It’s Killian’s turn to turn a bit pink. “Aye. Your brother is playing one of his games, and you know how he gets. Likes his junk food.”

“Spoiled rotten, you mean.”

“I’d never say that,” Killian protests.

“Yeah, says the man bringing a tub of cheese balls up from the kitchens when His Spoiled Highness still has working legs!”

“You know, it sounds an awful lot like you’re deflecting, Your Highness,” Killian points out. His eyes still manage to twinkle with restrained laughter, even if his ears are still red.

He’s caught her, too. “Just a bit frustrated, is all. You know the stormfront going through up North?” Killian nods. “Mom and Dad got caught in it. They won’t be home tonight after all, and probably not even tomorrow. So… it’ll just be me and Leo for Christmas Eve, I guess.”

“I’m sorry, lo — ma’am,” Killian says softly. He does that, sometimes - start to say one thing, before quickly course correcting back to propriety. She’s always wondered what he’s trying to say - she’s never quite figured it out. 

"It's not your fault," she shrugs. "Unless you've got some weird weather powers you've been hiding from me." It would just figure that _Killian_ was the one who could control the weather; just one of the many secrets she doesn't know about him. "When are you heading home? You didn't get the Christmas shift, did you?"

Killian scratches behind his ear as just the tip of the cartilage flushes red. She can't imagine what he has to be embarrassed about; regardless, it's kind of cute.

Not that she's watching. That closely. (All the time.)

"I traded shifts with Mulan," he explains, referencing Emma's own security agent. "She's got... something with her girlfriend's family. Kind of a last minute thing."

"Looks like you're stuck with us, then," Emma comments, trying to tamp down the excited little butterflies in her stomach and the voice in her head that screams _score_! Very dignified.

Killian grins back. "Looks like I am." They smirk at each other for a minute, some camaraderie simmering between them with an undercurrent of something more. "Well, I'd better get the prince his cheese puffs," he finally says, shaking the container for emphasis. "I'll see you around, Your Highness. Let me know if you need anything."

(It would be horribly foolish to tell him _you_ , so she doesn't say anything at all.)

——— 

By the time Emma makes her way down for dinner, the snowstorm has started in earnest - big, fluffy flakes that accumulate as soon as they hit the ground. In the little sitting room overlooking the gardens where her family takes informal meals, the swirling flakes make her feel like she lives in the little house in the middle of a snow globe. As much as she wishes their parents were here with herself and Leo, she's simultaneously glad that they're not out in the middle of this. 

Leo flings himself into a chair with all the grace of a nineteen-year-old boy. Emma tries not to sigh too loudly at the way his limbs fly every which way, banging against the table and rattling the dishes; she's not willing to turn into her grandmother yet, thank you very much. She loves her brother, but somewhere along the line, he's developed an attitude that's hard to live with. Probably something about the independence of university going to his head, making Leo think too highly of himself. Maybe some girl out there will find it attractive - with their mother's hair and eyes and their father's strong jawline, he'd be a catch otherwise.

(She really must be turning into Grandma Ruth, if she's thinking that kind of thing.)

The one thing that's noticeably absent from Leo's little display is Killian. "Where's Lieutenant Jones?" she asks as the kitchen staff bring in plates of chicken and potatoes and asparagus to place in front of the pair of them. 

Her brother shrugs. "I dunno. Probably having dinner somewhere."

That would make sense. It also brings into stark evidence that he's probably doing so alone; around Christmas, the palace always operates with a skeleton crew of staff so that as many people as possible can spend time with their families. There's no reason he couldn't just eat with the two of them. "Did you invite him to join us?"

Leo flushes red and mumbles something at his plate as he reaches for a dinner roll - not really an answer, but at the same time, more than enough of an answer. 

“Leo…”

“I didn’t think of it, alright?” 

Emma sighs heavily, before standing from the table to track down her brother’s security agent. It doesn’t take much searching; Killian is right outside the door, thumbing through his phone. He hurriedly stows the device away when he sees Emma, practically snapping to attention. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Nothing, really,” Emma says. “You can stand down, or… whatever. I just wanted to see if you’d like to join us for dinner.”

“Oh, that’s really unnecessary —” he protests, but Emma’s determined.

“I know, but still. It’s kind of weirdly quiet around here, and there’s more than enough food. You don’t have to, obviously,” she hurries to clarify, “but it’d be nice to have you there. I’d appreciate the Leo buffer, at least,” she even jokes.

“Well when you put it like that…”

He follows. And of course there’s enough food, and of course he’s perfectly charming, and of course he has the presence of mind to suggest watching a Christmas movie after dinner to get them just a little more into the spirit of the season. Killian fits like that - unobtrusive, the way a good agent ought to be, but also charming and seemingly super-aware of how to cut through some of that sibling tension that always inevitably exists between Emma and her brother. 

The movie is an old classic - one with dancing and singing and two reluctant people falling in love. Emma wouldn’t have expected Killian to like this - would have pegged him more for an action movie fan, or something like that - but he smiles and bobs his head along with the music. Leo is a different story altogether - after not even an hour, he’s already deserted the lounge for his room and video games, leaving Killian and Emma alone together. 

“So what would you be doing tonight? If you weren’t here with us.” Emma’s clarification isn’t necessary in the least; however, she’s sitting close enough to touch Killian on the couch, and the thrill of it all is making her babble. 

He’s gracious enough not to mention it, at least. “I’ve got a brother,” he explains, “and he and his wife have a little boy. Max. Really cute kid; let me dig out my phone, I’ve got so many pictures on there.”

The little boy on the screen can’t be more than four, with a wide and silly grin on his face and a dinosaur shirt to complete the picture. He’s just as cute as Killian promised. 

“That was at his birthday last month,” Killian smiles fondly. “Four years old - growing so fast. Anyways, I usually spend my holiday with them. My sister in law has a huge family, and they’re always happy to let me tag along. Too kind, really.” 

“I’m sorry you’re having to miss that,” Emma replies with genuine regret. 

Killian shrugs; Emma has already proven she wouldn’t be nearly as gracious in the same situation. “There will be other years,” he explains. “All things considered, it’s not so bad, spending the holiday with Leo and your lovely self.”

“I think you’re the first and only person happy to be spending Christmas with _that_ ball of teenaged attitude,” Emma jokes. 

“It’s not so bad,” Killian deflects. “I’ll admit, the constant quips and eye rolling can be a bit much some days, but he’s a good kid underneath. Did you know he paid for all his roommate’s books for the coming semester?” 

“No, I didn’t.” Emma shouldn’t be surprised, but she is. She’s gotten so used to the snarky terror her brother acts like around their family that it’s shocking to hear that it’s not always the case.

“Like I said - he’s a better kid than he lets on.” They watch the screen in silence for a few moments; they’re coming up on the finale. Perhaps Emma can convince him to watch a second movie with her afterwards. “I suppose he didn’t tell you about his girlfriend then?” Killian asks with a laugh.

“Leo’s got a _girlfriend?_ ”

“He would if he’d just _ask_ her,” Killian snorts. “Her name’s Britta. You’d like her, I think - she doesn’t put up with any of his nonsense. Which, just between you and me,” he says from the side of his mouth like he’s confiding a secret, “he _sorely_ needs sometimes. Anyways, she lives one floor up in their dorm. They have Intro Geology together.”

“He’s really doing alright?” Emma asks softly. Leo is, more often than not, a little shit, but he’s still her little brother. She still just wants the best for him, most of the time.

“He’s really doing alright,” Killian confirms. “Don’t worry - I’m keeping an eye on the boy. For all of us.”

The warm feeling that leaves in Emma’s soul carries her through the rest of the night. 

——— 

Christmas Eve dawns much the same as the evening before - cold and snowing to the point of a whiteout. Emma isn’t particularly pleased about that turn of events, especially since it means that there’s almost no chance in hell of her parents getting home that day.

At least it’s a good opportunity for her to get a lot of work done. Being the crown princess means commitments to various charities and foundations and plenty of reading to come along with them, not to mention the never-ending stream of correspondence. A day just to focus on the things that have been accumulating on her desk will be good for everyone involved.

At least until the power flickers out. 

It’s midafternoon, just when the light is starting to dim, and she’s been working on editing a proposal someone sent her via email. She technically can do it in the dim light, but it’s… not fun. Emma doesn’t particularly enjoy squinting. There’s generators at the palace, of course, but they’re directed towards the most essential functions - security, heating, and minimal kitchen operations. Lighting, for better or worse, isn’t included on that list - nor is wifi signal. She’s stuck.

On a hunch, Emma wanders down to the kitchen, to find Leo and Killian raiding the cabinets for candles and snacks. She should have figured; two young-ish guys, food was obviously going to be the priority.

“This sucks,” Leo gripes. “First, Christmas gets screwed up, and then this. Unbelievable.”

“To be fair, the electric company can’t really help the snow,” Killian points out as he extracts a roll of cookies from a cupboard. “A lot of electrical infrastructure is still above ground. It’s easy to get knocked out.”

Emma shoots Killian a sidelong look before swiping the same cookies. “How do you know so much about this?”

“You pick up a few things when you read, Your Highness,” he winks back. 

“Are you guys done?” Leo interrupts. “Not everyone wants to watch your thirsty asses flirt all night. I’m not _that_ desperate for entertainment.”

“Oh my _god,_ Leo,” Emma groans back. It’s much more fun to watch how Killian turns bright red to match Emma’s own embarrassment. 

“Look, just because the TV is out, doesn’t mean I want to deal with this.”

“Ok, what would you rather do then?” Killian asks in much more measured a tone than Emma would have been able to muster. Probably the benefit of not being related to Leo.

The younger man shrugs. “Scrabble?”

Killian snorts at that, though Emma doesn’t quite understand why. “Are you sure?”

“I like Scrabble,” Leo defends. “I’m going to kick both your asses.”

It’s as good an idea as any to spend a snowed-in afternoon. 

——— 

A couple hours later, Leo is singing a different tune as Killian plays the last of his Scrabble tiles.

“Make sure you mark my latest points, lad,” he prods with a grin. “I want to make sure my lead is _really_ cemented.” Killian has proved to be an invaluable ally in Emma’s personal quest to knock her brother down a peg; unfortunately, Leo is less enamored of the effort. 

“Whatever. This is so lame,” the prince says, pushing back from the filled board. “I’m going back to my room.”

“Oh, c’mon, Leo, it’s just a game —” Emma protests, but her little brother is already out the door. 

“I thought he said he liked Scrabble?” Killian asks, starting to collect the little tiles back into their bag. 

“Oh, he does. He just likes winning, and usually he can beat the rest of us. Finally met his match with your fancy words, I guess,” she jokes, though it kind of falls flat. It’s hard for the punchline to land when its subject has already stormed out of the room.

“Ah. Well, I apologize for that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emma excuses. “Though if you don’t mind, I’m not sure I’m up for a rematch - at least not of Scrabble.”

“You got something in mind, Your Highness?” Killian smirks.

“Have you ever played cribbage?”

“Once or twice. I could be persuaded.”

“I’ll get the board then.” Emma stands up, but pauses before actually leaving to do so. “And call me Emma.”

She leaves the room before she can see him react, but barely catches the soft trail of his words as she passes through the door. 

“As you wish… _Emma_.”

———

It turns out, Killian is lying about having played “a time or two.” Either that, or he’s extraordinarily lucky.

(Cheating isn’t fully off the table, either, but she’s trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Not that he makes it easy.)

“So that’s fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, fifteen eight, fifteen ten, fifteen twelve, fifteen fourteen, pair is sixteen, and three pair is twenty-two.”

Emma groans as he moves his red peg around the outer curve of the board. They look like such a cliche - Emma in her pajamas, Killian with his tie loosened, sitting in front of a roaring fire with candles scattered on all the flat surfaces as they play cribbage on the floor. The typical picture of two people caught in a power outage. Touching, really. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but you’ve got the proof right in front of you. A damned good hand, if I do say so myself. What’ve you got there?”

“Utter shit,” Emma proclaims, tossing her cards down on the carpeting. “Run of three and a fifteen for five, plus a fucking useless ace. Absolutely jackshit.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” Killian cranes his neck to see where her cards are strewn on the carpeting. A nine, an eight, a seven, and that stupid ace. Nothing. “Never mind, it really can,” he laughs. “Tough luck, love.”

That little word - just a small endearment - hits her like a brick. _That’s_ what he keeps trying not to say, all these times. _Love_. It just took a few permissions from her, and several more drinks than either one should have indulged in, for him to let it slip. 

(She just might like it - being called love.)

The real question is what he means by it. It could be a verbal tic; it could be something more. Emma knows how she feels, her persistent crush, but it’s hard to tell how Killian feels behind his unflappable professionalism. Or maybe it’s not professionalism - maybe it’s just how he feels? God, she just can’t tell, and it’s about to drive her crazy.

Emma spends a lot of time studying Killian for the rest of their game. She doesn’t really discover anything new - she already knows the way that he laughs and smiles and teases - but it cements, somehow, that he’s a _really_ good guy. She already knew that, really, but tonight has really driven that home.

The longer she watches him, and the stronger her conviction comes, the more she wants to _do_ something about it. Maybe it’s the rum; maybe it’s the ambiance. Whatever it is, Emma wants to know just how he feels too, and hears herself talk without thinking. 

“Hey, Killian, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Emma,” he smiles. 

She shouldn’t continue - should just keep her mouth shut and her dignity intact. Drunk Emma doesn’t agree. “I was just wondering —”

By some miracle, a face-splitting yawn interrupts her sentence, saving Emma from herself. Because she was definitely about to say _I was just wondering if you, like, like-like me._ You know, like middle school.

“I think it might be time for bed there, love,” he laughs, seemingly oblivious to the butterflies he just set swarming in her stomach. _Love_. God, she’s a sap, and one who reads too much into things at that. “What were you saying?”

“I… can’t remember. I think the yawn knocked it right out of my head,” Emma lies with a laugh. “You’re right, I should get some sleep. You too - you know where there’s a guest bedroom, right? You’re totally welcome to use it.” A stupid thing to say, all things considered, but Emma has progressed to babbling to cover herself. 

“Aye, I do,” he assures her. “Now come on, love, up you get and off to bed you go.”

 _Love_. 

Emma goes to bed floating on a happy cloud made of rum and his endearments, certain the pairing will only bring her the sweetest dreams. 

———

The dreams are sweet. The morning is decidedly… not. The room is too bright where sun seeps through the shades, and her mouth is too dry, and she can already feel the beginnings of a killer headache encroaching behind her eyes. Revenge of the rum, or something. 

A glass of water helps a bit, as do a couple of painkillers, but Emma is still less than pleased to hear the knock on her door. She’d much rather spend the day in bed, Christmas together-ness be damned, but there’s traditions in this family she can’t run away from, and every year since Emma was very young, they’ve passed out holly sprigs and candy canes to the visitors at the gate.

Killian smirks when she opens the door, apparently finding some sick amusement in the death glare Emma shoots in her groggy state. God, it’s just patently unfair that he still looks so attractive while she’s so hungover - even in yesterday’s suit and shirt. He’s not quite all buttoned up yet - still a bit of chest hair peeking out the top and his tie hanging loose - and it only makes him look even more delectable.

(Is that still a way that people describe hot guys they have chemistry with? Truthfully, Emma is a little too foggy to know or care.)

“Well don’t you look festive,” he teases. “Is this what they call _high spirits_?”

“No, that was last night.”

“Touche, love,” he laughs. “Do you think you’ll be ready to greet the people at 10:30? That should give you and Leo an hour or so for the meet and greet. Your mother’s speech is scheduled for noon - though I suppose you’ll be tackling that if she doesn’t make it back in time?” He phrases it like a question; it’s not.

Emma groans at the prospect. “Don’t remind me. And don’t jinx it!”

“Sorry, sorry.” His eyes crinkle when he smiles at her - an extra little detail Emma hadn’t noticed before, but now can’t stop seeing. “I’m sure you’ll be brilliant.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather not have to be.” And it’s true; Emma’s perfectly capable of giving a speech, and has done so on multiple occasions, but her mother’s annual televised Christmas address is something else entirely that Emma would rather avoid at all costs and if at all possible. That all depends on her parents being able to make the flight, however. “How’s the weather today? Any better?”

“Have you not even looked out your windows today?” Killian prods gently. Emma isn’t quite sure when they switched to this teasing relationship they’ve apparently established, but she thinks she likes it. 

“I was a little busy trying to avoid all trace of sunlight,” she shoots back.

“Well, it’s a lovely, crisp day,” he promises. “I don’t see why your parents shouldn’t be home for Christmas.”

Just to hear it out loud is a huge relief, even if she has enjoyed their little bonding exercise the past couple of days. No matter how much fun she’s had with Killian, it’s still Christmas, and she still misses her parents. 

“I’ll see you at breakfast?” Emma asks tentatively, hoping he’ll say yes, scared that he’ll say no.

“I’ll have the kitchens whip up something particularly greasy,” he winks back.

———

The morning is cold, but just as clear as Killian had promised. As much as Emma had grumbled this morning, she actually likes this bit of Christmas tradition - shaking hands, giving their visitors well-wishes, making sure to hand out candy to all the children. It feels like the true spirit of the holiday - giving not for the thanks, but for the smiles, and because it’s the right thing to do.

Still. It’s cold, and as much as Emma had appreciated how wide Killian’s eyes had gotten when she had emerged after breakfast in a full-skirted green coat dress, her skirt and hose don’t offer much protection against the weather. Pants would have been a much more practical choice, but there are expectations for days like these, and a skirt is part of that. 

Her relief is palpable when they finally make it back inside. God only knows where Leo gets to - he’s off the hook, at least - but Emma treks back to her mother’s formal office as soon as her winter wear is sorted. As much as Emma hopes it won’t come to that, her mother’s annual Christmas speech is scheduled in twenty minutes, and if Queen Mary is still on the road, Emma will be expected to fill in. It’s not something she’s looking forward to; spontaneity like this never is, though she knows she’ll only have to read from a prompter. 

Killian beats her there, somehow; by the time she arrives in the antechamber outside where television cameras and lights are already set up, he’s crouched under the tree, fiddling with the lights and offering an excellent view of his ass. _Nice_.

He catches her staring, of course. “Anything I can help you with, Your Highness?” he asks with a smirk.

“Nah, just taking in the view,” she winks back. Any fears she might have had about last night only being a product of the outage and the rum are largely quelled by the way he’s acting today - not quite _just like normal_ , but not in a bad way either. Closer. More intimate. More… something. 

Emma’s face settles into something more contemplative as she reflects on the change - something Killian, of course, doesn’t fail to notice. “What’s on your mind, love?” he asks, tilting his head in concern and curiosity. 

“Nothing, nothing,” Emma hurries to say at first before reconsidering. She still wants to make a move, to see where they stand; more than that, she wants him to know just how much these past few days have meant to her. With that in mind, she takes a deep breath and tries to be a little brave. “I just… I guess I just want to thank you, Killian.” Emma makes sure to look right in his eyes as she says it so he can see how much she means it. “This wasn’t the Christmas I expected to have, obviously, but it’s been… wonderful, really. And you’re a big part of that.”

“Oh, Emma, you don’t need to —”

“Yes, I do,” Emma interrupts. “I know this probably wasn’t how you planned to spend your Christmas - not when you’ve got your brother and his family to spend time with. But it meant a lot that you were here, even if you didn’t want to be.”

By the time Emma finishes, Killian has flushed a brilliant red - even more than just his ears. “About that, love…” he says, tugging at his hair. “It really wasn’t quite as out of my hands as you believe. Please believe me - there’s no reason to thank me.”

“I don’t understand.” He had switched with Mulan, of course - she knew that already, he had told her as such - but that didn’t change that he’d ended up here for much longer than he should have been, thanks to the storm. 

“You know that I switched shifts… but not when.”

“What does that matter?”

“Well, it matters because when I told you that I’d be around, that I’d switched… I hadn’t, actually. I arranged that with Mulan afterwards. There was no conflict with her girlfriend’s family, I just… I wanted to be here.”

As surprised as Emma is by the revelation, she still feels like there’s something she’s missing - whatever would make him want to stay when he could have avoided it. “Why?” She asks softly, taking a step closer into Killian’s space. This feels like the kind of conversation to require close proximity - foster emotional intimacy, or something like it. As Killian proved in scrabble last night, he’s the one with the words.

Emma can see Killian swallow as he stares down into her eyes. “I wanted you to have a nice Christmas, love,” he replies, just as softly. Tenderly, even. “I could tell you were frustrated, and upset, and… I know it was the height of hubris to think that I could make that better, but I wanted to try. If I could help make it a happy Christmas for you, love… I wanted to try.”

“For me,” Emma breathes - more a realization than a question.

“For you.”

It’s impossible to miss the earnestness and truth in his words and gaze. That desire Emma felt last night to kiss the daylights out of him has been simmering on low ever since they parted for separate beds, but it flares up again at his confession. He did that for _her_ , because he wanted to make her happy. Carefully, Emma takes that last step into his space, so close that their bodies nearly touch. Slowly, she trails her hands behind his neck and up into his hair to draw him down, lips mere inches apart —

A commotion in the hallway barely gives them a moment to break apart before Emma’s mother bustles into the room. As much as Emma has spent much of the last three days wishing her parents were here, now feels like the worst possible time.

“Mom, you’re home!” she manages to gasp weakly. Killian discretely steps away again; though Emma understands why, she’d much rather continue what they’d started - _without_ an audience - than watch him retreat back into professionalism. Especially when moments ago, she’d just gotten a preview of what his hands might feel like against her skin.

“I couldn’t miss Christmas, now could I?” her mother asks, hugging Emma tightly. “I didn’t want to leave you to take care of the Christmas speech either; I know that kind of thing isn’t your favorite, and you’ve had no time to prepare besides… but _oh!_ It’s just so good to be home again! Your father went to try and track down your brother…”

The queen keeps rambling as she strips off her gloves, but Emma doesn’t pay much attention. Sometime in the last handful of minutes, Killian slipped out the door altogether, leaving only Emma, her mother, and her mother’s security head. She missed her chance, it appears.

(And after all they’d shared these past days… Emma could just _screech_ with the frustration of it all. It’s becoming kind of a habit.)

——— 

Emma hopes to talk to him after their interruption - _tries_ to talk to him, even, searching for him across rooms. But it’s Christmas, and her parents are finally home, and it’s so easy to lose track of time and get caught up in the hustle and bustle of things. By the time Emma can break away from the festivity for a few minutes, Killian has already slipped out, quietly replaced by Mulan. She knows that he won’t be back for several days - more than earning a vacation and time with his family after giving up most of his Christmas with her and Leo.

She should be able to talk with him once he’s back at work, too; after all, he’s only got three days off (she knows this for a fact - she asked Leo, any hit to her pride be damned). But by the time Killian is back at work, so is Emma, with charity appearances and daily meetings and everything else her usual schedule entails. 

Maybe it’s fate that they don’t meet again until New Year’s Eve. Maybe it’s just fortuitous scheduling. Whatever the case, Emma doesn’t get a chance to speak with Killian until the annual New Year’s Diplomatic Gala, of all places. 

It could be for the best, maybe; Emma can’t deny that she looks fantastic. Her dress tonight is silver and drapes elegantly across her body, creating a kind of vintage aura, topped with pinned waves, a rich burgundy lipstick, and long white gloves. The diamond and sapphire tiara is just the topper of it all, the icing on the cake.

(Emma’s always liked sapphires, but tonight, the stones don’t seem nearly as blue as his eyes, no matter how much they catch the light.)

She sees him across the room the moment she walks in, along the wall in another tailored dark suit, and she could swear that his eyes follow her too. Killian has a dress uniform, she knows - he wore it to the Armed Forces charity ball last year, and looked quite dashing at that - but tonight’s not the time for that. Tonight, the idea is to be as unobtrusive a presence as possible since he’s on duty, not that it’s going well. It’s hard for Killian to blend in with _that_ face and _that_ suit - or maybe Emma’s just attuned to noticing him. 

Regardless, it’s still not the time to talk anyways - she’s still being escorted into dinner on the arm of the Ambassador to Glowerhaven, and there’s still a banquet and dancing to come. Maybe, if she’s lucky, she can steal away later; maybe, with even more luck, she’ll be able to pull Killian along with her.

(They’ve got unfinished business, and Emma still wants to learn how he kisses.)

The garden balcony off the ballroom isn’t exactly an ideal location in late December, but it’s the only place Emma knows she can get a few blessed moments away from the crush of people inside. It’s cold out, nearly trying to snow again; a few rogue flakes drift from the night sky to land on her bare skin. There’s a handful of heat lamps scattered about, but they only do so much, as do Emma’s gloves. This hadn’t been one of her brighter plans, Emma knows, but she and Killian had been making eye contact all night across the room, and she simply couldn’t wait any longer to slip away and hope he follows her.

Just as Emma’s preparing to abandon the plan and head back inside, a warm weight drops on her shoulders - the faux-fur wrap she’d discarded at the dinner table earlier as it got in the way of her eating. Killian smiles at her when she turns her head to meet his gaze.

“I thought you might be cold, love,” he explains. “We can’t have you catching a chill.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think much about the weather when I came out here - I just wanted a little time alone,” Emma admits. “With you.” The last part is added hurriedly when a flash of embarrassment streaks across Killian’s face, and he looks like he might make an utterly unnecessary run for it. 

“We never finished our conversation from Christmas, did we?” Killian almost looks a little bashful about the subject, ducking his head and tugging at the hair behind his ear. It’s adorable, truly, not to mention a little fascinating - the way he shifts back and forth so rapidly and confidently between seeming like a smooth master of seduction and a bashful boy who isn’t quite sure what’s happening, but is happy to be there. Fascinating, in the best of ways.

“Oh, I thought that conversation was _plenty_ finished,” Emma teases. She even sways into his space flirtatiously to underline her point, finding some kind of boldness within her that she wasn’t certain she possessed. It must just be something about Killian that brings it out in her. “If I remember right, we were about to move on to… how would you put it? _Much more pleasant exchanges_ , or something like that?”

“Something like that,” he mumbles back. “If I crossed a line the other day… I’m sorry if I overstepped, Your Highness —”

“It’s still Emma,” she corrects with a smile, reaching out to lay a hand on Killian’s arm. “And you didn’t overstep. I was right there wish you.”

“I’d just hate to think that I pressured you into something —”

“Killian, did you want to kiss me on Christmas?” Emma interrupts.

Killian pauses. Emma wasn’t aware a human person could turn that red. “Yes,” he finally admits - just one simple word that sets her heart a-flutter.

“Well, that’s lucky, because I did too. Still do, honestly.” 

“You do?” Killian looks like he can’t quite believe his luck.

“I mean, yeah. Christmas could have been… honestly, straight up depressing. But you made it better. And I… I like you. I mean, I’ve been attracted to all this —” she waves a demonstrative hand — “for a while, but I like _you_. It’s New Year’s Eve, and it’s stupidly picturesque, and I want to kiss you at midnight. If you still want that too.”

Killian breaks into a wide smile. “What if I don’t want to wait for midnight?” he asks, moving so close into her space that she can feel his breath on her face. She twines their fingers together where their hands finally meet. “What if I still want to kiss you? Now?”

“Then I’d say…” 

Emma never bothers to finish the sentence, opting instead to lean forward and meet Killian’s lips with her own. Her high heels put her at the perfect height to just barely need to tip her head upwards to find a perfect angle. Killian’s lips are soft against her own - gentle and teasing at first, almost like he’s just trying to learn the shape and feel of them before anything else, but he’s more than happy to deepen the kiss when Emma sinks her hands into his hair to pull him closer. He tastes a little minty, like he just popped a mint before coming out to speak with her - a fact that seems impossibly endearing, even through the pleasurable haze of their kiss. She can feel his hands through the fabric of her dress, firm and warm at her hips, like he’s keeping her safe even now. The kiss is tender, and passionate, and _perfect_.

(Then Killian tilts her head with calloused fingers at her chin to adjust the angle and sweep his tongue into her mouth, and she gladly stops thinking much of anything at all.)

“That was…” he breathes when they finally separate, breaking apart just far enough to rest his forehead against her own.

“Well worth the wait,” Emma finishes. And then laughs, unable to hold it back. “You’ve been holding out on me, Jones.”

“Call it the magic of Christmas,” he teases back. Fireworks start going off around them; though Emma hazily wonders for a moment if they did that, somehow set off literal fireworks to match the metaphorical ones bursting between them, before she realizes it must be the new year. They completely missed the countdown - not that she cares.

“So how does one go about dating the Crown Princess?” Killian asks, already leaning in for another round of kissing. “I think that just might be my New Year’s Resolution.” 

“Stick around, and you’ll find out.”

She’s got a lot of plans for them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on tumblr, where I'm @shireness-says.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!


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